


Can't Tell the Reasons From the Riddle and the Rhyme

by summerstorm



Category: Community
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Britta's never been good at waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Tell the Reasons From the Riddle and the Rhyme

**Author's Note:**

> For myrifique, who asked for Britta gen and gave me several prompts; this fic is based around 'cutting and running.' Title and cut lyrics from Ariel by Diane Birch.

Britta's never been good at waiting.

"You've heard of the concept of long-term results, right?" Annie says one afternoon, after Britta goes on a perfectly reasonably long rant about the sheer practical uselessness of everything she's studied, learned and worked on for class in the past year and a half.

"I've _heard_ of it," Britta allows, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, that's what college is." Annie looks a striking amount like she'd really rather keep doing her homework, which is kind of pathetic. "You get a base so that in a few years you'll know how to do the job of your choice. Successfully."

"I don't know," Britta says, leaning back in her chair. "Doesn't it make you antsy? Just being here day after day and never seeing anything _change_."

"At least it doesn't change for the worse," Annie offers.

"But it's so— _stale_ ," Britta says. Stale, and the worst part, the part she keeps to herself because it would offend Annie if she said it out loud, is that Greendale is the kind of place you stop at before you keep moving. You can't set in roots there. You can't set in friendships, because they're burdens, and sometimes it feels like it's already too late, and sometimes Britta thinks it'd be better if she just left. Cut all ties before they strangle her.

"Maybe you should start by cleaning out this place," Annie suggests, scrunching up her nose. "Start with one room. The piles of clothes will slowly dwindle and you'll get to see the progress! And then the end result. It will be a new experience!"

"I clean regularly," Britta points out.

Annie looks around. "I'm sure you do," she says, smile fading down.

"Besides, I don't think getting a college degree works the same way as tidying up an apartment," Britta points out. "For one thing, you can't see the dirt and mess gradually vanish."

"You could put together a daily to-do list," Annie says, perking up. "Or a rewards system."

"And stick a reminder to go through my to-do list on the fridge," Britta says in a mock-excited tone. Her voice shifts into outright sarcasm as she continues, "Or, hey, since you're suggesting it, maybe you could remind me."

Annie purses her lips a little. It makes her look even younger than usual. "I could—try, I guess."

"Yeah, I don't think that's going to work," Britta says. "But thanks."

Annie shrugs.

*

The next time she brings it up, she's having coffee at Shirley's, which is a terrible idea because her kids are around and they're little monsters, but Britta owed her after Shirley found out Britta'd been studying alone with Annie.

"Don't you ever think about just—leaving it all behind?" she says. It's been on her mind, and she's never going to learn how to knit, no matter how hard Shirley tries to teach her. Britta's mind wanders. "Starting fresh somewhere else. A new life."

"I have _two sons_ ," Shirley points out, whisper-yelling.

"You could take them with you!" Britta says excitedly. Shirley's icy stare turns into outright glaring, which—Britta doesn't really understand that. "Or, okay, we can talk _hypothetically_ ," she attempts. " _If_ you could take them with you—"

"And if I could take this little one with me, too," Shirley says, deflating into her seat.

"You're—" Britta begins to ask, jaw dropping, and stops when Shirley's eyes widen pointedly.

"I'm not sure yet," Shirley says.

"Sorry," Britta says, quieter.

"It's not your fault," Shirley says with an apologetic shrug, though she still looks pretty angry. Britta leans forward over the table and attempts to pat her on the back. She retreats when Shirley throws a glare at her wrist. "No, it is partly your fault," Shirley accuses.

"What?"

"If you hadn't started acting like you were all better than everyone I could have ended up alone in a room with _you_ and now I wouldn't be in this situation," Shirley accuses.

"Hey!" Britta says defensively. Shirley dodges her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Shirley frowns. "I—don't know where that came from," she says, confused.

There's a stretch of silence.

"Sorry," Britta says, breaking it. "Again. If there's anything I can do—"

"Well," Shirley says. She looks _sad_. It's weird to see Shirley look sad. She's always so—not sad. "You could let me use your bathroom."

"Okay!" Britta agrees, nodding supportively.

"And you could keep me company," Shirley says. Britta's supportive façade must crumble a little, because soon enough Shirley clarifies, annoyed, "On the other side of the door."

"Okay." Britta smiles sweetly.

*

"Don't you ever wish you could just pack up and—I don't know, go on the road? Just travel all around the country."

"Not really, why? Do you?" Abed asks.

"Sometimes," Britta says, slinking down into her chair, tapping her fingertips on the table. "Do the whole pilgrimage thing. Maybe follow a band you love, that sounds like it'd be good. It was good when I did it."

Abed considers it. "It seems like following a band on tour is like scrapping your own show and becoming an extra in someone else's. I can see how that would appeal to you."

"It wouldn't be—it would be my own show. Making my own rules within a given itinerary. Isn't that what most reality shows are about? There'd be all these people and the camera would follow my experiences and discoveries," Britta says.

"Following one person in a large crowd, I can see it," Abed says. "But I thought you already had all your road trip experiences and discoveries. Is there one you missed? Why do you want more?"

Britta shrugs.

"Oh," Abed says. It's a bad _oh_.

"What?"

"This is a nostalgia thing. You want to go back to the way things were before."

"God, _no_ ," Britta says.

"You want to go back to when your future looked bigger and less dire," Abed reasons on, nodding.

It's Britta's turn to say, "Oh."

"Whose future is dire now?" Troy says casually, strutting in through the door and taking his usual seat.

"Hey," Britta drawls out, turning to Troy, "we could have our own dance tour! We could—you and I, we were _good_ together."

"You're still doing that?" Troy squeaks, forcibly laughing. Abed throws him a weird look, and Troy sobers up. "Okay, so am I. But I'm not into your idea. I'm not getting up on a stage every night waiting for some drunken asshole to throw empty beer cans at us."

"And you would if they were full?" Britta asks, voice laced with angry condescension.

"I agree with Troy. That doesn't sound lucrative," Annie points out, taking a seat.

"It wouldn't have to be," Britta says. "It would be about art and the simple fluidity of sound and human movement—"

"It doesn't sound lucrative enough to support itself," Annie says. "I'm taking a business class."

"Fine," says Britta, opening her book.

"Can't you just, I don't know, adopt a puppy?"

"I don't need purpose that badly, Annie."

*

A few days after Valentine's Day, Jeff gets Britta a snake.

Troy's gone before the cage is all the way through the door.

"Jeffrey," Shirley says, "I appreciate that you're trying to make things right with Britta, but _get that thing away from me_."

Annie's scarily close to going _aww_ at the snake. Britta has a newfound respect for her.

"How did you even get it in?" Britta asks Jeff.

Jeff just looks at her, in that way that seems to imply _do you even have to ask?_ Britta concedes his point in the same manner.

"But why did you—"

"It was on sale," Jeff explains.

"They put an innocent animal on _sale_?" Britta asks, outraged, reaching out to palm the corners of the cage. She's a little scared, if she's honest. "You poor thing," she says to the snake, "we'll show them who's boss," and Jeff takes the cage away from her.

"The snake is not your army," he says firmly.

"So why did you _get_ it for me," Britta says.

"It's a _wild_ snake," Jeff says. "Some old friends of mine were fighting this case against—it's a long story," he sums up. Britta should learn how to act less interested in these things. "The point is, I brought you this snake so you could keep it, feed it, and release it into the wild the next time you feel like cutting and running. It waited, so you can wait too."

"That's actually kind of romantic," Shirley admits.

"It's not a Valentine's Day gift, Shirley," says Jeff. Britta smiles anyway. "That looks forced," Jeff points out.

She stops. "I'll take it," she says sharply, "give me that," and makes grabby hands for the cage.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Riddle and Rhyme (The Yellow Brick Road remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/174906) by [htbthomas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/pseuds/htbthomas)




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